The Madcap Masquerade (15 page)

The thought occurred to him that of the three parents he had known, she was the only one he could claim with pride. He wondered if he would have been able to recognize that truth so easily if Meg hadn’t forced him to comprehend the plight of fallen women like Sophie. Thanks to the two unorthodox women who’d recently entered his life, he would never again look at the soiled doves of society with the same eyes.

He found himself smiling for no reason. “Did Doddsworth, by any chance, tell you I am betrothed?”

She smiled back. “He did. What’s more, he said that in his opinion, the young woman will make you the perfect countess.”

“That she will, and once I’ve explained the situation to her, I’ll want you to meet her.”

“No!” His mother shook her head vehemently. “That is not a good idea. Young ladies tend to be easily shocked, and you must admit ours is not a relationship that’s readily explained.”

“But Meg is not an ordinary young lady. She’s eccentric, unconventional, extremely liberal-minded. There’s not a petty nor a deceitful bone in her body. In truth she’s far more forthright and honest than most men I know. You will like her, ma’am …and she’ll like you.”

The smile returned to Rosa Natoli’s face. “I take it you are in love with this paragon.”

“I don’t know if I can call what I feel for her ‘love.’ I’ve only really known her for a few days.” Theo frowned thoughtfully. “But I like her—and desire her—more than any other woman I’ve ever known.”

“And how does she feel about you?”

“At the moment, I fear she distrusts me. And for good reason. She knows I originally offered for her solely because I desperately needed her huge dowry to save Ravenswood. She also knows I have a reputation for being my father’s son where women are concerned.” Theo took a fortifying swallow of brandy. “But I’m determined to win both her trust and affection by the time our wedding vows are spoken in July.”

The dark eyes studying him widened noticeably. “And how do you propose to do that?”

“I intend to court her in all the romantic ways women like to be courted. I’m not certain I’ll be successful, but—”

“Never fear, my son, you will be,” Rosa Natoli interrupted him. “If, that is, you truly put your heart into your courting.” She regarded him with obvious pride. “I may be prejudiced, but I doubt there’s a woman on earth who could resist you once you set out to win her.”

Theo sat back in his chair and basked in the warmth of his newfound mother’s approval. It was a unique experience—one that gave him a feeling of profound contentment. He knew he was grinning from ear to ear. He couldn’t help it. In less than a fortnight, he’d progressed from a lonely, disillusioned rake to a man who had both a sweetheart and a mother he could cherish and trust.

What more could any man ask of life?

Three days later, he arrived back at Ravenswood, exhausted from his long ride but more at peace with himself than he could ever before remember. His memories of the time he’d spent with his natural mother were all happy ones, albeit a trifle frustrating.

She’d asked him to call her ‘Rosa’ since calling her ‘Mother’ would give away their secret. He’d readily agreed, but not to safeguard a secret he was tempted to shout from the steps of Carlton House. It simply went against his grain to call her by the name he’d used for the frigid countess.

He’d asked her to return to Ravenswood with him. She’d flatly refused, claiming anyone who saw them together would guess the scandalous truth of their relationship, and her thirty years of sacrifice would be for naught. He’d finally agreed, but only after she’d pointed out that not only he, but his wife and children as well, would be tainted with the scandal of his birth.

She’d begged him to stay in Hawkshead long enough for them to become better acquainted. He’d explained he had to defer that pleasure until a later date since he needed to get back to Ravenswood and begin seriously courting Meg. Despite Rosa’s encouragement, he would never feel entirely certain of Meg until he had his wedding ring on her finger.

He’d begged her to come to his wedding. She’d declined, citing the same reasons she’d had for not returning with him to Ravenswood.

In the end, he’d simply acknowledged there was no changing the mind of a stubborn woman who believed herself in the right—and ridden away, pledging to write her weekly. Ironically, his strong-willed mother reminded him very much of the woman he planned to marry. This rather shocking observation started him thinking he probably deserved a medal of valor for daring to welcome two such women into his life.

The third woman in his life was waiting for him when he stepped through the manor house door. The dowager accosted him before he could so much as set foot on the stairway leading to the third floor and his private apartment. “Where in heaven’s name have you been this past week?” she demanded in scathing tones. “How dare you disappear without so much as an explanation to our distinguished guests.”

Theo struggled to control his temper. “They were your guests—not mine, madam.”

“Nevertheless, your conduct was inexcusable. Between your rudeness and that dreadful cartoon in the Times ridiculing him so cruelly, my poor brother’s visit was a complete disaster. You should have been here to offer him your support and comfort. I swear, I do not know what has come over you lately. Despite all my efforts to turn you into a proper peer of the realm, you consistently display the breeding of a peasant.”

“Not surprising. I’ve heard blood will tell,” Theo said without thinking, then immediately cursed his careless tongue. He fully intended to confront the dowager with what he knew of her devious manipulations, but he’d planned to wait until he was rested from his journey and able to do the subject justice.

She gave him a look that could have frozen boiling water. “What exactly is that obscure comment supposed to mean?”

Theo glanced about him to make certain no servants were within earshot. “It means, madam, that I have spent the past few days visiting my mother at her home in the Lake District. If her charming manners are representative of those of the Italian peasantry, then I sincerely thank you for the compliment you just paid me.”

The dowager gasped. “How did you …who told you …? It was Doddsworth, wasn’t it. I often suspected your father had taken that old fool into his confidence. Lynley was always an idiot.”

Theo didn’t bother to correct her. In a roundabout way, it was Doddsworth who’d started him digging into ancient records.

“I cannot say I am sorry you know the truth,” the dowager admitted in her usual chilling tones. “It will be a relief to no longer be required to pretend a maternal affection for you I have never felt.”

Theo laughed in spite of himself. “It is a lucky thing you were born to a title, madam, and not forced to pursue a career on the stage. If the affection you pretended for me is any example, your acting ability is indeed minimal.”

A glance at her outraged countenance and he sobered instantly. “I, too, am happy there need be no more pretense between us. I shall be even happier when I never have to look on your face again.”

“How dare you speak to me in such a manner, you …you common upstart.”

“I have given the matter much thought on my long ride back from Hawkshead,” Theo continued. “I believe my small estate on Lambourn Downs in Berkshire will be the ideal place for you to spend your remaining years. I shall direct your maid to begin packing your clothes and my man-of-affairs to set up your account in the pension ledger—along with the rest of the pensioners I support.”

“You forget to whom you speak,” the dowager said, her jaw rigid. “I have no intention of leaving Ravenswood. I am the only woman qualified to be its mistress. If you persist in this madness, I shall be forced to publicly divulge the fact that you are a bastard with no legal claim to the title of Earl of Lynley. I am certain the heir presumptive, your cousin Edgar Hampton, will be sufficiently grateful to accord me the respect due me.”

Theo shrugged. “Divulge all you wish, my lady. I care not a whit what scandal you create amongst members of the
ton
—which is the only harm you can do. My father was not quite the idiot you imagined him to be. He saw to it that papers stating I am the legal heir were duly signed, witnessed and filed with the Master of the King’s Records.”

The dowager literally collapsed before his eyes, her face the color of the marble statue to which he’d so often likened her. Theo could almost bring himself to feel sorry for the evil old besom. Until he remembered that had she had her way, he would never have known he had a mother who loved him with the selfless kind of love she was incapable of feeling.

“For the sake of appearances, I shall agree to move to the dower house for the duration of the summer,” she bargained through tight lips. “Surely not even you can be so foolish as to think you can exclude me from your wedding without causing a scandal that would turn the affair into a circus. I have to believe even a bride as common as yours would despise you for that.”

Theo cringed. She was right and he knew it. Like a bird of prey circling its victim, she had intuitively sensed his weak spot. Meg and he had enough problems to overcome; the last thing they needed was to begin their life together with a wedding marred by scandal.

“Very well,” he agreed grudgingly. “You may make your home in the dower house until after the wedding is over, providing you remove yourself and your personal possessions from the Ravenswood manor house before this day is ended and make certain you never cross my path until the day of the wedding. Once the ceremony is over you may go to Berkshire or if that doesn’t suit you, any place else you may choose. Leave your direction with my man-of-affairs. He will see that your quarterly stipend reaches you wherever you may be.”

Without a backward glance at the woman he had called ‘Mother’ for the first thirty-two years of his life, Theo took the stairs to his chamber two at a time and gave orders to his valet he was not to be disturbed for the remainder of the day.

Maeve had already finished her evening meal and retired to her bedchamber for the night when Lucy knocked at her door to tell her a note had been delivered by a Ravenswood footman and he was to wait for an answer. From the sparkle in the maidservant’s eyes and the bright spots of color in her cheeks, Maeve deduced said footman was none other than Ben Flynn and that Lucy would appreciate her taking her time composing her answer.

The very masculine handwriting left no doubt as to the identity of the writer of the note. The name that Theo always called her scrawled in his bold script made Maeve’s heart pound and her hands tremble as she opened the folded missive.

It was an invitation to accompany him, if she so desired, on his ride early tomorrow morning, and signed simply “Theo.”

The short postscript scribbled at the bottom of the page was barely legible but it looked very much like “I missed you.”

Maeve’s breath caught in her throat. She had missed him too. More than she cared to admit. Richard was pleasant company but there was nothing exciting about him—and she appeared to have acquired an addiction to the kind of excitement Theo exuded. Just thinking about kissing him again started her pulse racing out of control.

She penned a brief note telling him she’d be delighted to ride with him. In truth, she could scarcely wait to show off her newly acquired equestrian skills. Even Richard was amazed at how quickly she’d learned the basic technique of riding sidesaddle. She would have no problem portraying the country girl Theo believed her to be—something she had to do until she heard from Meg and collected the money due her from her father. She told herself she would be glad when the masquerade was over and she could return to her quiet life in London. She told herself she could never be attracted to an admitted rake and fortune hunter. Ergo she felt no guilt over her cleverly calculated masquerade, since the pawky fellow deserved whatever trouble came his way.

The statements sounded plausible enough. If it hadn’t been for the terrible ache in her heart, she might have deceived herself as thoroughly as she’d managed to deceive Theo.

T
heo was already waiting Maeve when she arrived at the stable shortly after dawn the next morning. Dressed in black and astride a huge black stallion, he made a striking picture, albeit a somewhat menacing one. As if to corroborate Maeve’s impression, the stallion reared onto its hind legs and snorted ominously when she approached. An omen of things to come, she suspected. It took every last ounce of courage she had to keep from running back to the manor house as fast as her legs would carry her.

“A punctual woman! Will wonders never cease!”

Theo’s dark eyes scrutinized her with a shocking intimacy she found almost as unnerving as the stallion’s violent reaction to her presence.

“Good morning, Meg,” he continued in a silky voice that raised the hairs on her nape. “I took the liberty of asking your groom to saddle your favorite mare. He tells me she’s likely to be a bit frisky as she hasn’t been ridden since before you went to London.”

His smile was slow and entirely without humor. “It appears this particular mare won’t tolerate anyone but you in her saddle. Perhaps, my love, you should have thought of that when you abandoned her for one of Richard’s nags these past four days.”

Maeve ignored his jibe. She was too busy praying the persnickety mare would settle for an identical twin.

Theo raised a questioning eyebrow. “Do you think you can handle her? I, myself, think it’s rather risky, but your groom seems to have great faith in your ability as a horsewoman.”

Maeve gulped. “Of course I can handle her,” she declared, relying desperately on what she was beginning to suspect might be fool’s courage to carry her through the ordeal ahead.

Theo’s smile warmed a fraction. “Then we should have a challenging ride, since my stallion seems especially spirited today as well.”

“How propitious,” Maeve murmured as she walked to the mounting block, where the groom held the reins of the restless dapple-gray mare. Luckily, Richard and she had found a large rock in one of the Ravenswood meadows on which she’d practiced mounting on her own, so the block was no problem.

She wished she could say the same for the horse.

It had never occurred to her that two mares could be so different in temperament. But this lively, prancing creature upon which she’d managed to perch herself precariously bore no resemblance whatsoever to the docile mount Richard had provided her. Furthermore, it was all too obvious the mare was not as easily fooled by the physical resemblance between Meg and herself as most humans were.

One backward look when she attempted to mount, and the wild-eyed horse gave a warning snort that fairly chilled her blood. Then no sooner had she settled onto the saddle and grasped the reins than the fey creature took off with a jolt. Across the stable yard, down the long, curving driveway and through the arched entryway the little mare trotted with Maeve bouncing up and down like a cork riding a choppy sea.

“The road,” Theo called out. “Guide her onto the road outside the gate.”

Maeve did her best; her mount would have none of it. With a toss of her elegant head, the mare bounded across the road and over a low hedge to the wide meadow that stretched as far as the eye could see. There, to Maeve’s despair, the horse took off at a full gallop, nearly unseating her.

“Whoa you stupid beast,” she cried as the reins slipped from her hands. In desperation, she bent over the saddle, grasped handfuls of the mare’s flowing mane and held on for dear life.

Over the pounding of her horse’s hooves, and the pounding of her heart, she heard Theo shout from behind her, “Hell and damnation, Meg, slow down before you kill yourself.” How she was supposed to accomplish that feat, she had no idea. She was too terrified to do anything but hang on with fingers frozen to their task and pray for deliverance from her nightmare.

Across the endless meadow, the mare galloped with Theo’s stallion thundering close behind. They splashed through a shallow stream, across another stretch of meadow and up a grassy slope toward a small stand of birch trees.

Maeve vaguely remembered Richard’s warning to stay away from trees until she’d gained sufficient experience in the saddle to have complete control over her mount. There was, he claimed, that odd horse perverse enough in nature to deliberately try to brush its rider off by galloping beneath low hanging branches. A sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach told her the mare was one of those horses.

“Watch out for the trees!” Theo yelled. It was too late. With an unbelievable burst of speed, the mare plunged into the very heart of the thicket. Instinctively, Maeve let go of the mane and raised her arms to protect her face. A low branch caught her shoulder high, and the next thing she knew, she’d catapulted backward off the horse and landed in a breathless heap on a grassy mound at the base of one of the larger trees.

“Ugh,” she gasped, trying to draw air into her tortured lungs. But between the impact of the branch and the force with which she’d hit the ground, the act of drawing a deep breath was beyond her.

“Damn and double damn,” she silently cursed when she heard Theo crash into the thicket behind her. She couldn’t face him. How could she explain why a supposedly accomplished horsewoman was sitting here on her bruised backside with that miserable mare nowhere in sight? With a groan, she closed her eyes, lay back against the grassy mound and prayed she’d either die on the spot or he’d go away and leave her alone.

He didn’t, of course. She heard him murmur her name as he dropped to his knees beside her, and the anguish in his voice was nearly her undoing. She should, by rights, open her eyes and assure him she was uninjured—and she would—just as soon as she got up the courage to look him in the face. For if he’d never before doubted she was born and bred in the country, he would most certainly doubt it now.

Theo had galloped into the thicket just in time to see Meg fly off the back of her horse. He’d thought at first she’d merely landed on her rump on a soft, grassy mound; in fact, he could almost swear she had. But by the time he’d tethered his horse and rushed to her side, she was lying flat on her back with her eyes closed, looking as crumpled and lifeless as a doll that had been carelessly tossed aside by a thoughtless child.

He knelt beside her, studying her chalk-white face and feeling utterly helpless—afraid to move her lest something inside her slender body was broken. “Meg,” he said softly. “Speak to me if you can.”

Her eyelids fluttered momentarily, but remained firmly closed. As he watched, her gently rounded bosom heaved with the exertion of drawing air into her lungs. A good sign, he decided. At least she was breathing, however laboriously.

The heaving gradually slowed, her breathing eased and a touch of color returned to her cheeks. More than a touch. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear she was blushing. Slowly, her eyes opened, their startling emerald hue echoing the vivid green of the grass on which her head was cushioned.

Her lips moved, and Theo leaned forward to hear her. “I guess I should have listened to what Richard said about trees,” she murmured weakly.

A surge of pain and anger raced through him at the thought that her first words on regaining consciousness should be of a man he strongly suspected was his rival for her affections. Grimly, he stifled his desire to shake some sense into the stubborn little minx.

“Richard isn’t here,” he said tersely. “I’ll have to do.”

“You’ll do just fine, Theo.” She turned her head and fastened her somewhat unfocused gaze on his face. He breathed a sigh of relief, thankful the foolish woman hadn’t broken her neck. Maybe the Good Lord was handing out miracles today and she’d merely knocked the wind out of herself.

“Can you tell me where you hurt?” he asked softly.

She sighed. “Everywhere. But I feel better now that I can breathe again.”

She struggled to sit up, but Theo grasped her shoulders and gently laid her back down. “Not yet. Rest a minute. You’ve had a bad fall. I want to make sure nothing is broken.”

Maeve felt relatively certain the only serious injury she’d sustained was to her pride, but she shifted slightly to find a more comfortable position and gave herself up to his painstaking examination of her arms, her legs, her ribs, her aching head. A mistake, she soon discovered, for every nerve in her body sprang to life beneath his gentle probing.

She closed her eyes again lest they reveal the fact that she was literally melting beneath the touch of his long, elegant fingers. “That’s enough,” she said finally, pushing his hands away when she could stand no more of the sensuous torture. “I’m perfectly all right. Just a little out of breath.”

“I do believe you are. I can find nothing broken,” Theo agreed in a voice that sounded oddly unsteady. “Which makes me think you are either made of stronger stuff than you appear to be or you’ve a guardian angel watching over you. Whatever, my love, you just took ten years off my life. I swear I feel weak as a newborn kitten.”

Without further ado, he stretched out beside her on the grassy mound, rolled to his side, and propped himself on one elbow.

“What…what are you doing?” she stammered.

“I’ll ask the questions,” he said, staring down at her with narrowed eyes. “Question number one: What made that idiot groom think you were an accomplished horsewoman? I’ve half a mind to rearrange the stupid fellow’s face when I get back to the stable.”

He scowled. “Question number two: Why in the name of heaven would you willingly mount a horse you had to know you couldn’t handle? Devil take it, Meg, I’ve seen rank beginners ride better than you just did. I don’t blame the mare for throwing you.”

Maeve felt as if the ground had just dropped from beneath her. This was it, she told herself. The moment of truth when her madcap masquerade was at last unveiled. Question number three would undoubtedly be, as Richard had asked before him,
Who are you, madam?

Theo removed a twig from her hair and impatiently tossed it over his shoulder. “You constantly surprise me, Meg Barrington.” His tone of voice made the statement an accusation. “How is it you are so marvelously accomplished in ways no country woman should be—yet, abysmally lacking in the one skill in which I would have expected you to excel?”

Maeve stared at him, her heart pounding. Anger and bewilderment clouded his dark eyes, but still he circled around the truth, almost as if he were loath to face it.

“You constantly surprise me too, Theo,” she said in a desperate attempt to divert his attention. She managed a halfhearted smile. “Any other man I know would be sympathetic when I came so close to breaking my neck. For some reason I cannot fathom, you appear angry.”

She struggled to sit up, but once again he pinned her down—this time with a none-too-gentle hand across her ribs. “Angry is too mild a term for what I’m feeling at the moment,” he stated grimly. “If you ever pull another harebrained stunt like the one I just witnessed, you needn’t worry about breaking your neck. I’ll wring it.”

The hand across her rib cage edged a fraction higher until his fingers touched the swell of her breast and a warm glow spread from the point of contact throughout her entire being. If the glow spread through him as well, he managed to hide it. “Do you have any idea how I felt when I saw you fly off the back of that horse?” he asked through tight lips.

The tremor in his deep voice startled her. He really was upset. Instinctively, she reached up to stroke the rigid line of his jaw.

He turned his head and kissed her palm. “My heart nearly stopped beating. In case you’ve failed to notice, my dear, you’ve become very precious to me.”

Maeve felt herself respond to his unexpected endearment with a warmth that both surprised and frightened her. Dear God, surely she couldn’t be losing her heart to the charming rogue. “You flatter me, my lord. My dowry must be even larger than I’d realized,” she quipped, hoping to dampen his ardor with cynicism. “Your dowry be damned!” Theo’s eyes blazed. “I admit it was my initial reason for offering for you. But now that I know you—now that I’ve seen your courage, your compassion, your honesty—give or take a fib or two about something as ridiculous as your French
émigré
music teacher—it’s you I desire.”

He cupped her chin with his strong fingers and stared deep into her eyes. “God help me, you stubborn, headstrong, impossible woman. I think I’ve fallen in love with you.”

As if to prove his point, he shifted his body to where she lay beneath him, lowered his head and kissed her with a passion that left her almost as breathless as her fall from the horse. “Tell me, my love,” he said in a throaty whisper, “is that the kiss of a man whose only interest is money?”

“No,” Maeve whispered back, too stunned by passion to be anything but honest.

But much more than his passionate kisses drew her to him now. He was not the same arrogant aristocrat who’d greeted her at the ball; nor was he the conscienceless rake who’d used the Widow Whitcomb so shabbily. Something had changed him—made him more thoughtful, more caring…and sadly, more vulnerable.

His declaration of love had touched her heart as nothing else ever had, and at the same time, left her feeling sick with guilt. He’d called her courageous, compassionate,
honest
. She was none of those things. But he believed she was. He believed so strongly, he’d managed to blind himself to all the clues that should have warned him of her deceit. If he only knew what a fraud she was, he’d hate her.